


No Mercy on the Battlefield

by gyromitra



Series: And no one realized [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Apparently dominance play, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/M, Female!Jack, Genderbending, I swear I will bring it to the climax, It really isn't my usual kind of shit, Tasteless Jokes, a little bit of sex, how do I English, mchanzo if you squint very much, which means non-con play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 23:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8467000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyromitra/pseuds/gyromitra
Summary: Sarcastic summary: 76 gets rekt (twice) and Reaper gets to be Gabriel Reyes for a second. Mercy is called a bad word. Oh yeah, and someone dies somewhere.





	

76 cowers behind the wall, her breath labored. Never had she been so thankful for the Overwatch interference, because the whole set up went in flames the moment she came closer to her target. She can hear Tracer quip and zip around, and 76 takes that as her cue to slink away, like a coward. Staying will only make it harder, it will make dead woman raise from the dead again, it will make something tug at her heart. But that doesn’t stop her from activating an old frequency.

“Sorry, luvs, Reaper being master douche to rule them all and stirring shit.” Yes, Tracer, and she cannot help the awkward smile on her lips. There’s an electronic snap, followed by a shotgun blast. So she recalled. “That bloody tickled!”

“Y’all okay?” McCree drawls.

“I have a bead on him. Something on your seven, McCree.” That one is new, 76 does not recognize him.

“Ya say, pardner? I see,” there is a telltale crack and she is almost thrown back, fireworks exploding under her eyelids. Her neck feels just like broken when she recovers her balance. “Holy shit, I just shot Soldier. Dude, I’m fucking sorry! Seriously sorry, you a’right!?” McCree screams.

For a second, 76 considers responding in kind, her fingers itch to return the favor as she stares at him, but she decides against it. And bolts.

“Soldier?” The same unknown voice.

“Ya know, 76, the vigilante,” McCree guffaws. “But he shrugged that off and just buggered away!”

“Sweethearts, that’s all peachy and dandy, but the wankiest wanker of them all is on the move.”

“Heading you way, McCree. Changing position…”

“Ye, imma ready to send him… shit!” There is a squawk, a crack, and silence.

“McCree!?”

“…ashole bwoke me noshe…” Jesse sputters with a groan.

 

***

 

76 is screaming in frustration, the tools she has at her disposal now are not enough to repair the mask and weld the crack. She feels crippled, lost, less human than usually. She feels like a feral war beast she was created to be. The sounds of footsteps makes her afraid. She clutches the mask like her lifeline.

“You are slipping.” Latches click into place and she turns, snarling, to look at Reaper. “To get hit by that.”

76 steps back and places her fingers on the rifle. A warning.

“No snippy retort this time?“ Reaper waits, hands crossed over his chest. Finally, she reaches up and pulls down the edge of her suit. She know how it looks, her throat is one fucking scar. “…I see, maybe I should have shot him instead.”

Before she thinks, 76 reacts, and her hands move, military sign laced with a bit more unofficial expletive.

_Don’t you fucking dare._

She snaps back when she’s given an answer.

_I still might, butterfly._

“But considering you can’t tell me to stop…” He is there by her side and almost picks her up by her throat, metal points pierce fabric and skin. 76 squirms and grabs his wrist, fingers digging into leather, but then he throws her against the wall and she slides down, dazed from impact. No, she can’t tell him to stop, but she can show it to him. She doesn’t, even when he grabs her short hair and pulls her up painfully.

He doesn’t relinquish his hold when his other hand forces itself into her pants, cold metal almost tearing and burning her insides. 

“Wet already, you slut?”

76 can only give a pained wheeze of air catching on her lips in protest. His knee forces her legs apart, grinds into her crotch as clawed hand travels upwards under her shirt, leaving broken skin in its wake.

“I will break you,” he promises. “I will fuck you raw till you bleed and then some more.”

She tries to kick him but is only rewarded with dry laughter.

“And you are powerless. Let’s see that,” he turns her over and thrusts face first into the wall. “Little girl playing soldier, see how it turned out for you? Fucking broken thing, that’s the only thing you’re good for now.” His words tear her down as his claws tear down her trousers. “Are you afraid yet?”

76 tries to find some purchase, breaks her nails on the naked concrete, screams for help when Reaper enters her. And then the only sound is skin on skin, her pained breaths and his words.

Later, as she lies curled on the hard, cold floor, 76 feels hurt. Weak. Feeble. She feels human, no longer a monster of the battlefield, and relief washes over her.

“You need to be more careful, mi mariposa.” Reaper says, tracing patterns into her arm. “Before, you were merely a bounty. Now, you are a contract.”

She wants to tell him he has grown sentimental and it doesn’t do him any good, but she is weak and human, embraces her pain, and drifts into dreamless sleep.

 

***

 

It’s merely two weeks later that 76 trips and falls, and Reaper is on her like a predator on its prey.

“Seems the Death has come for this little rat.” But she is nothing if not resourceful and the second he allows her grants him a combat knife to the temple. She crawls from under him, grabs the rifle and runs a few steps in his fading sight to fall down again, pushed from behind.

And again she raises, and again she is thrown down in the fountain of red.

When Reaper comes to Widowmaker stands over him.

“I hit him twice. He can’t be far from here. Had to reload and lost him.”

“Good.” He shadows behind her and grips her head. It is but a one swift motion and she is no more. It is but a one shot to make sure there is nothing of value to recover for Talon.

When Reaper finds her, 76 looks up at him, one blue eye tainted by blood from cut forehead visible from behind a broken visor. She doesn’t even try to lift her pulse rifle. She is too weak. She is a beast no longer. She is human.

She is slowly drowning in her own blood.

“Are we going to finish this game?” She asks with a wet gurgle behind the mask.

“Not yet.” Reaper picks her up. 

 

***

 

Angela freezes when he steps into dispensary.

“Fix it,” he growls, and she gasps when she recognizes 76.

“Lie her down here!” Mercy gathers supplies and works her magic – it is not enough. After first twenty minutes 76 flatlines for ninety seconds and Reaper looks out of the window at the sea crashing upon cliffs.

It happens again ten minutes later, this time for over three minutes. Blood splatters on the wall, trickles to the floor, and he can only wait, he can only observe the coming storm.

It’s only (as much as) an hour later, that Angela sighs with relief, and smears the blood on her face.

“She’s stable,” she whispers. Wind and rain smash against the glass. And Reaper lets out his anger in one swift move, lifts her up by her throat, hardly having strength to keep himself from crushing her here and now, and he wants nothing more than to see the light fade from those eyes.

“Puta, you knew the whole fucking time!”

“She… she didn’t want… anyone…”

“Whole. Fucking. Time.” Reaper snarls.

“You… you were… dead.” Angela gasps and he releases her even as his talons twitch with bloodlust. “I will… I will make it right. But she needs to stay and heal. I will settle things. You will stay, both, here. But please… don’t leave, not yet.”

Reaper sets back into his chair, and as time passes there are arguments in the other room. There is screaming. There is silence. Still, no one intrudes on them and the slow beep of a heart monitor is the best sound he has ever heard in his life.

When blue eyes, slightly ajar, look at him, he intertwines their fingers together and touches forehead to forehead.

“You should sleep, mi mariposa.” Jack smiles at him wordlessly and slowly drifts away again.

 

***

 

Next day when they step out of the infirmary, it is only by sheer will and enough painkillers to down an army of elephants that 76 keeps standing, jacket zipped up and still bloodied. And yet she moves in front of him and addresses all gathered.

“Doctor Ziegler vouches for me. I vouch for him.” This is enough.

“Come, I’ll show you to your quarters.” Angela is a fucking ray of sunshine, and the mercenary is hardly able to contain his disgust. 

As they pass, McCree sees Reaper holding 76’s elbow, steadying her, talons lightly tracing the line of her shoulders, it looks almost as if the touch is supposed to be calming, maybe comforting... Jesse backs slowly into kitchen.

“Guys, y’all, I just figured why the fucker smacked me one right on the kisser!”

Three pairs of eyes focus on him.

“I shot his fuckbuddy!”

Hana makes a loud sound of disgust.

“No! Old people fucking! My pure virginal mind!”

“But you shot…” Hanzo’s eyes widen. “Right. This is why that vigilante vouches for him. Quite admirable, for both of them, to have such care for their lover, no matter the circumstances.”

“What…?” McCree spares him a look of befuddled disbelief.

Genji rolls his eyes. His brother, doth tryest too hard.

**Author's Note:**

> If you survived - non-English speaker, criticism welcome. It's 5 am and I have every part planned out.


End file.
